by Don Winslow
She squirmed in the rising heat, ground her bottom into my hand, and gave such an excited wiggle that my already hard prick surged with intolerable readiness.
My hand moved in a heated rush, sliding down to fumble for the hem of the short tunic were it rested half way down her thigh, to touch her on the bare leg and then to slip up under the little skirt for a journey of discovery. As I suspected, the saucy girl wore no loincloth and I was now treated to the smooth feel of her bare bottom. I let her little rump fill my palm and closed my fingers to grab a handful of those hard young cheeks.
The girl’s buttocks clenched, tightened down. She gasped and jerked upright. Suddenly, her hand flew back, clamped my wrist and drew my hand from under her skirt. Still held by the hand, I was dragged after the excited girl as she pushed her way through the crowd intent on finding some privacy within the olive groves far from the roaring crowd.
And it was there that the girl flung herself at me with opened legs that clamped my hips, and greedy thighs that drew me to her in repeated lusty spasms. History may credit Romulus, but I can assure you that Plunar and Lolatina (for such was my Sabine playmate’s name) were the first to unite Romans and the Sabines.
Part 4
OUR CHAMPION RAISES HIS MIGHTY SWORD
The sun was low in the west by the time Lolatina and I were able to rejoin the crowd, earning some knowing glances from her girlfriends who now huddled around her, eager for the whispered news. Unlike some of the other women of the Latin tribes, these Sabines showed not the slightest reluctance in openly discussing their sexual activities and the performance of their mates, and while not privy to the enthusiastic feminine discussion that now bubbled up all around me, I did find myself favored with frequent smiles of approval as pretty heads turned my way. For my part, I tried to ignore the flurry of hushed conversations and girlish giggles, although I was well aware of the lewd glances, even though I kept my gaze to the front, determined to concentrate on the arena.
We had arrived back just in time for the war games, mock battles in which champions were chosen from each of the neighboring states to compete with wooden weapons upon the field of battle.
I noticed the regal Cataluna now sat under a shade of awning that had been erected for the nobles, while at her side her bumbling, complaining husband fussed over the accommodations. The Lady paid not the slightest attention to him, but sat upright and erect, her keenly interested gaze locked on the two combatants who now took the field: Tacitus, our mighty Roman hero, and Nereus, the formidable giant who was the champion of the Gabii. The crowd greeted the popular heroes with a lusty roar. I stole a glance at Lola whose eyes were shining with excitement, and then at the Lady, whose gaze seemed cooler, but no less interested.
Now she straightened in her seat and leaned slightly forward, her eyes eager and alert, as our champion, Tacitus strode onto the hard dusty field. His tight muscular body was lightly clad in a sleeveless leather jerkin; a short warrior’s kilt that left exposed the hard sinewy legs and powerful hairy thighs of our stalwart hero; his only armor was the bronze helmet of the Trojans, and the gleaming metal breastplate. As we watched, the two combatants drew the wooden swords slung into their belts, and brought them up in salute to the crowd. The crowd went wild.
Once again the deadly dance ensued, although this time the man-to-man ballet included weapons, the wily opponents circled, each looking for his advantage. And when the fight was joined there was a mad scramble of limbs and swinging swords. It happened so fast that it was hard to follow the action. Nereus gained the initial advantage, pressed his attack, drove Tacitius backward, and the Roman stumbled.
The Romans in the crowd let out a fearful groan. Cataluna jerked upright in her chair, a hand came up in shocked surprise to flutter in the air.
Nereus was relentless, seizing the opportunity to lung forward, but in the nick of time the crafty Roman had regained his stance just enough to evade the thrusting sword and to deliver instead his own blow that caught Nereus on the side of the helmet. We heard the crack through the crowd, and that solid smack caused the charging Nereus to falter. He shook his head like a mad bull and charged forward, constantly attacking. But if Nereus relied on his brute strength, Tacitus had the advantage of the more skillful adept moves of an expert swordsman. He danced out of the way of a sweeping scythe, ducked over the wavering sword, and in one smooth movement, thrust forward to punch his wooden weapon right into the underbelly of his opponent, sinking in the blunted point just below the protective breastplate. The brute’s eyes bulged out and his mouth gaped open as his sword fell and he clutched his stomach with both hands. Winded, he fell to his knees, gaping like a newly-caught fish.
The crowd cheered, and the usually cool Queen of the Sabines joined right in, bouncing up in her cheering and waving her fists in the air, while her disapproving husband leaned back to regard this display of girlish enthusiasm with grim censure.
Meanwhile, Tacitus had deftly stepped behind his winded opponent and while Nereus was still on his knees, powerful chest heaving as he struggled for breath, Tacitus whacked him on the back his helmeted head with a blow that rang out over the crowd. Nereus fell forward, crashing down like a mighty oak; Tacitus raised a sandaled foot and placed it lightly on the neck of his fallen foe.
The crowd roared its approval, cheering wildly, and I saw the flushed and excited Lady Cataluna jump to her feet clapping with wild abandon at the mighty warrior who now looked her way and gave, just to her—or so it seemed to me, a nod and a huge grin of triumph.
These heated contests were a great success with the crowd, and they were followed by a night of feasting and drinking and merrymaking. The women of each tribe took turns presenting their traditional dances, but it was the lithe Sabine girls who performed bare breasted, their supple bodies clad in nothing but skimpy loincloths, who were the most admired for their lively performance. They bounded with surprising agility and natural grace, twisting and turning their nubile young bodies, tumbling like acrobats, whirling and leaping with athletic ease in an energetic display that had the crowd breathless.
It was hardly surprising that the acrobatic dances of such scantily clad girls would instantly stir the passions of every red-blooded Roman. Their show was greeted by thunderous applause, and Romans rushed forward bringing offerings of wine to the sweating, panting dancers. After that spirited dance it was inevitable that Roman men and Sabine women should become much better acquainted. We soon found that these Sabines lived up to their reputations as highly-sexed women. They were outrageous flirts who thoroughly relished a good roll in the hay; fidelity to husbands, and even fathers, were not among their strongly held virtues.
Romulus was a generous host; our wine is the finest, and it flowed freely that night. Under the glow of torches one could see the revelers growing more brazenly amorous. The firelight showed warm faces with flushed cheeks and eyes that shone with excitement. Clothes were being shed with careless disregard, while eager hands explored freely. Half-naked women were locked in torrid embraces with fully clothed soldiers; nude girls climbed all over supine partners who still might retain a kilt or loincloth, if that. Naked men danced around the campfires, or stride about looking for conquests with erected penises at the ready. Women sported excited nipples that blossomed forth in the first flush of excitement. Sensitive to warm summer’s night that seemed redolent of sex, such thickened nipples stuck out in brazen display, their tips stiff with arousal.
I managed to find my Lola, and in a heated rush we raced back to the woods, only to find them populated with new-found lovers who had paired off and were now eagerly exploring the magic of warm summer nights in the moonlit olive groves. Coupling couples were strewn about everywhere. Grunts and moans, the sounds of love came from all directions, as eager lovers gave and took the pleasures of lips and mouths and tongues. Even as some amorous couples made their way to more secluded places, those who were bolder, burning with impatience, or simply more inebriated, were having sex openly in th
e most public of places.
A well-known senator sat ensconced on a small camp chair. At his feet, a naked women sat back on her folded legs. She had his loincloth shoved back, his penis exposed. She held his manhood at the base with a clenched fist, and she was slowly, languidly licking up and down its quivering length with the soft lapping strokes of a big cat. The man groaned, leaned back, and shuddered with pleasure. A companion of his sat in an identical chair beside him. In his lap a sensual raven haired beauty sat facing him, her dangling legs straddling his thighs. His hands came around to cup her bounding ass, as this magnificent animal bobbed up and down on his upright penis, flinging her long heavy mane in wild abandon, while he arched back straining up to meet her as she fucked the seated man with lusty enthusiasm.
As we made our way through clusters of revelers, Lola moved closer to me, took my arm, linked it through hers. The nearness of this naked girl at my side had me tingling with excitement. Under my loincloth, my erection had become impossibly stiff.
A tall rangy man was taking a woman from behind, having placed her on hands and knees. She was a big, fleshy girl with velvety golden skin, a wide, generous bottom, and rich succulent tits that hung down heavily below her bent torso. He held her by her sturdy hips as he pumped into her with slow deep, measured strokes. As we watched, the couple fell into a jogging rhythm that sent her dangling breasts swinging, while she shook her head and clenched her teeth at each savage thrust of his relentless cock.
With a cup of wine in one hand, I ran the other down the smooth back of slender Lola who pressed her nude body up against me and snuggled up with her head on my shoulders. As we watched the two lovers, Lola brought a thin arm around to run a hand down between our tightly-pressed bodies, impishly seeking my manhood, and she fondled me while we watched.
For my part, I couldn’t keep my hands off the girl. I let my hand slide down to cup her sweet little bottom, and she strained up on tip toes to reach my lips. We kissed—a passionate, open-mouthed kiss of burgeoning power. Her soft nude body melted into mine, and I held her tight. When we broke apart, we continued our stroll, with arms loosely slung around each other—a couple of lovers, threading their way through an orgy of lust.
We heard a keening screech of passion, like a banshee in heat, and turned to see, from behind a bush, a pair of long, white, decidedly feminine legs sticking up in the air and fluttering madly in the moonlight, before they clamped down around the pumping waist of a stalwart warrior who had plunged in to bury himself between the lady’s hungry thighs. As we drew closer, the shock of recognition came over me. We were watching none other than the Lady Cataluna being lustily fucked by our champion, the indomitable Tacitus.
For a while we stood entranced, watching the couple furiously fuck, then Lola laughed her low earthy laugh and made a grab for my crotch. Clasping me by the prick, she dragged me along to a grassy knoll.
I had my playmate sprawled out on her back, her legs widespread, and I was kneeling between her splayed thighs, weapon in hand and a single purpose in mind, when we heard a terrible commotion. Men were shouting, women shrieking in fear and outrage. Then a gang of men were running past us. Lightly-clad but undoubtedly Roman soldiers, they carried with them into the woods a clump of protesting Sabine women.
We later learned that, after some slight, real or imagined, there had been a raid on the Sabine camp. It seems a few of our lads who were well in their cups and lacking female companionship, decided to hunt for Sabine women who had held back from the merry-making, spurning the advances of Roman men by retreating to their tents. When the amorous Romans pursued these reluctant virgins, they were turned away by the sober Sabine elders. This, they decided, was an insult to Roman hospitality, and they decided it was their duty to help the pretty ladies overcome their shyness. The drunken louts found the first tent they came to, one that, unbeknownst to them housed his lordship Tatius, his family, and certain of his nobles. And it was upon these worthies that the drunken Romans crashed in. The marauders attacked the men in a general brawl (weapons you may remember had been banned, but our boys made a good account of themselves using their fists and whatever came to hand). With the men temporarily laid out, the raiders set upon the women, who they dragged kicking and screaming into the woods.
This was the gang that thundered past us as we lay on the grass. I managed to get up on one elbow enough to see the retreating figure of a nearly-naked man, humping along with a large woman thrown over his shoulder like sack of grain. She was hollering, cursing him, and kicking wildly as he carried her off. The shrieks of outrage merged into the general cacophony, mingling with the screams of ecstatic delight that resounded in that holy grove.
Throughout the night, virile Romans and healthy Sabines coupled with reckless abandon, often under the very noses of spineless husbands and ineffectual fathers who had no hope of controlling such red-blooded and impetuous females. And thus the festive evening degenerated into a full-blown midnight orgy.
Part 5
THE RAPE (OR SOMETHING VERY MUCH LIKE IT)
Dawn marked the official end of the festival; the dew was burning off the campgrounds, and tents were being struck with the rising sun. The hung-over crowds began to slowly disperse, the clans packing up and making their way back to their ancestral homes—all, that is, but the Sabines. They stayed behind, huddled in council. After several hours, a delegation was sent to seek an immediate audience with Romulus. These worthies pronounced themselves shocked and outraged at the flagrant sexual behavior of their hosts, and they demanded an apology. The Romans had been insensitive—even carrying off their women into the woods! Others also complained of what they called sexual harassment; the women being subject to lewd remarks and rough treatment at the hands of the Romans. The haughty Tatius, quivering in righteous indignation, couldn’t help hinting that, along with the apology, perhaps some Roman gold might help to erase the insult to Sabine honor.
Romulus listened patiently. He said that he was shocked to hear that his men had behaved so badly. Moreover he wished to punish any wrongdoers. But first the women who had been wronged must be brought forth as witnesses. He must hear their tales of being used so shamelessly from their very own lips before making his judgment. He suggested that the entire clan be assembled in the Forum so he might hear their grievances. Apologies, and even the matter of restitution, he hinted with a sly smile, might then be discussed.
Accordingly, that very afternoon, the horde of Sabines made their trek up the hill and passed under the walls and through the city gates to meet with our king. Once the last of our guests had assembled under the vaulted ceilings of the great hall, a group of the palace guards in full battle array slipped into the room by a hidden entrance, and quickly and quietly barred each of the doors.
The Sabines looked about uneasily, mumbling to themselves in growing consternation, till they were silenced by the sudden appearance of Romulus, flanked by his centurions and looking quite splendid in full armor with the wreath of golden laurel leaves he always wore when he sat in judgment. The room fell silent as he ascended to the rostra, and then paused to address the assembled throng. The speech our monarch now delivered was clear and direct, and not at all what our guests expected to hear.
He had heard wild stories of the happenings in the olive groves last night, drunken revelries carried on right under the very nose of the god on this most holiest of feast days. He paused; the Sabines looked up at him, nodding and expectant.
He now continued. But because the sinners had not been struck down in rightful wrath, his priest assured him, the benevolence showed that this was clearly a sign from heaven. He looked at his high priest, Cletus, who dutifully nodded his long bald head in agreement. Indeed, the gods must have been pleased. In this puzzling situation, he had made offerings and consulted the oracle. The answer was plain: It could only be the will of the god Neptune—Roman men and Sabine women should be as one! The god therefore would guide their deliberations as they now selected one third of the Sa
bine women to stay behind to join in creating a great race of warriors.
At these words, the singing of a hundred swords being drawn from metal lined scabbards hissed through the quiet room, and the Sabines quickly looked around them to see the fully-armed soldiers holding their weapons at the ready. Now, for the first time, the Sabine men fully realized their predicament. They had foolishly allowed themselves to fall, unarmed, into the hands of their bitter rivals, and could only escape with their lives if they acquiesced to the outrageous demand now put to them so calmly by the smiling King of the Romans.
When they got over their shocked surprise, the leaders of the Sabines began to clamor all at once. Romulus let the cacophony of outraged voices grow to hysterical proportions, he then held up a single hand to silence them. Then he turned his back on his audience, climbed the few steps to his throne, and sat down to face them once again. The King always took the throne when he was to make judicial judgments. I still remember his speech to the Sabines: “This is a sign from heaven, and so it cannot be ignored. As all pious people know, those who would spurn the will of the gods do so at their own peril. The King and Senate of Rome has no choice therefore, but to follow the will of the gods.” And then he paused, and smiled straight at the seething Tatius. “Perhaps if the Sabines had spent more time standing before the altar of Mars and less time prostrating themselves before their women, they might still have their women.”
Those of us who were there that day well remember the sight of that the sorry procession of defeated men with the few remaining women allowed to them, clinging to each other as they made their way down the hill from the city to the jeers of the armed solders who stood looking down on them from the ramparts. Few of us who watched from the walls believed the Sabines would suffer this defeat without an attempt to win back their women, once they had rearmed and regrouped.